


it's just that my broken heart is my alibi

by makapedia



Category: Princess Tutu
Genre: F/M, Friends With Benefits, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, Smut, fakir gets creative with no condoms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:33:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23413135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makapedia/pseuds/makapedia
Summary: Ahiru wants human experiences and Fakir is a good friend.
Relationships: Ahiru | Duck/Fakir (Princess Tutu)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 111





	it's just that my broken heart is my alibi

"If you're having second thoughts we can stop."

It's infuriating, how Ahiru can _feel_ herself blushing, despite this being her idea. What's more maddening is the calm way Fakir seems to regard her, expression so carefully measured, as if he doesn't know that him sitting there in front of her shirtless is what's making her so flustered. It's just… _he's_ just…

"... _Jerk!_ " she yelps out of habit.

Jerkface Mcgee raises a brow. Still looks delectable, even when he leans back onto his knees and gives her space. Ugh! It's like- it's like none of this even affects him, this whole hairbrained scheme she's roped him into, and Ahiru both wants to crawl out of her skin and also push him down and climb on top of him, all at once. It's maddening. It makes her blood burn, and dammit, she's not sitting in his bed in her prettiest under things for nothing!

"It's my idea, just… just give me a second!" she insists, rubbing her face. _Get it together,_ she thinks nervously. It's not like she has anything to be worried about anyway; she said it herself, Fakir isn't even a little bit affected by all of this. His expression reads bored indifference, as always.

Which stings a little, but is probably better in the long run. At least if only she has messy feelings, the resulting fallout can't be two-sided. The worst that'll happen is she empties a pint of Ben & Jerry's by herself and cries into Rue's sweater and then moves on like nothing had happened. Besides, it's not like she could ask anyone else.

_Besides._ It's not like she _wants_ to ask anyone else.

"We can stop," Fakir says, but there's a gentleness to his tone now, one that hadn't been there before. It thaws her heart and also sets her blood further ablaze, and Ahiru rages by herself where she lays, scrubbing at her face. "You don't have to do this, you know, if it makes you uncomfortable. Sex isn't-"

"I want to!" How can she know what it's like if she's never experienced it? And, and if this is the only chance she ever has to share something like this with someone she likes, like really likes, well, what else is she supposed to do?

"-It's not something you can just force," Fakir finishes, lips pursed.

"That's not true. People have sex all of the time just because."

"People do," he starts, watching her squirm before him. " _You_ don't."

That's just not fair. He can't insist on babying her while also agreeing to sleep with her. He can't have his cake and eat it too. Ahiru's expression scrunches up and she pouts, sliding her hands down from her face enough to give him a _look_.

Fakir doesn't budge. "What."

"I can do whatever I want!" she blurts stubbornly. "If I want to… to mess around and _sleep_ around I can, and you don't… get to make that weird for me."

It looks like he's eaten something sour. "Can you?"

"Yes!"

"Because you're very emotional," he says, and she really ought to throttle him for the look he's leveling right back at her. "And I know it's hard for you not to get attached to people."

Brutal. It's like he can see right through her. Ahiru tries to kick him but he catches her foot before she has the chance to make contact with his knee. "Who are you, my therapist?"

He exhales, half of a laugh, nearly soundless. "I mean it. We can stop. We don't have to do this."

Isn't he listening? She wants to. If nothing else, she wants to feel it once in her life, and who knows, she thinks, when the story might get twisted, and when her time as a girl might end - and maybe she's sappy, okay, and sort of romanticizes the whole idea a bit, sex and intimacy, but if she's human, she wants to live. Wants to know what it's like to have limbs and lips and be so close to someone that she can feel their heartbeat, right next to her own.

Ahiru takes a deep breath and works on unbuttoning her blouse. "I want to," she says, fiddling with the tiny pearls keeping her shirt stitched shut, "but if _you're_ having second thoughts, we can stop-"

"I said I'd do it."

"I know, but-"

"I said I'd do it," Fakir says again, as deathly serious as ever. There's something there, when Ahiru looks up to meet his gaze, something tangible and thick and sweltering, and she might as well be naked.

"... Okay," she squeaks, cheeks surely rosy again. Ahiru struggles with unbuttoning her blouse and keeping her hands steady at the same time; but what is she supposed to do when he's looking at her like that?

It's like he can sense her haste. Finally. Fakir leans forward and holds his hands over hers, effectively steadying her as they work on undressing her together. It's more intimate than anything she's ever experienced before, sans for maybe the nights where he'd held her duck form after a particularly brutal nightmare all those years ago, and though it's meant to soothe her, Ahiru finds her heart racing at the contact.

Stupid. She's _stupid._ It's not like she doesn't want this. It's the opposite! She wants this so badly she can't even sit still, and he-

Fakir stares down at their hands diligently. If he's embarrassed, it doesn't show on his face. He's nearly solemn, as they reach the bottom of her blouse and begin untucking it from her skirt's waistband.

Insecurity rears its ugly head, just on schedule. Ahiru remembers that though she is human now, mostly, she _still_ is just a duck deep down, and perhaps not the most sexually appealing partner Fakir has ever seen naked. And it shouldn't matter, because no matter what she knows he's not really interested in her like that, but it's still - her hands still feel clammy no matter the terms, and something quivers in her gut, nervous and small.

"... We can-"

" _I want to,_ " Ahiru whispers, slapping his hands away. "Shut up. Stop giving me an out. I'm fine, I'm just-"

"I can turn out the lights?"

Now there's an idea. But if it's dark, how will she be able to see _him_? It's such a dilemma, the terrifying thought of being perceived and wanting desperately to see him, and Ahiru gets tied up in an emotional knot for a moment and just sort of… flounders there in his bed for a moment, weighing the pros and cons.

"Or we can stop," Fakir says again, like clockwork.

She _will_ throttle him.

"Lights out," she says instead, her voice more meek than intended. In the end, surrounding herself in darkness will no doubt make it easier - and there's something romantic in that, she thinks, in making love and being deprived of all other senses - but this isn't supposed to be romantic, and when Fakir turns around to make his way over to the light switch, she pinches herself for getting ahead of herself.

This is not a love story, she tells herself. This is not happily ever after and this isn't her marital bed. This is a new experience that Fakir is helping her out with because he is her friend and she _trusts_ him, above everything else, and that is enough.

It's enough. Ahiru swallows and squints.

"... Is this okay?"

She nods, then realizes after that _right,_ it's pitch black, and Fakir can't see her anymore. Right.

"Yes," she says, voice still meek. Ahiru gathers what's left of her grit and clenches the blankets more tightly between her fingers.

The bed mattress creaks and dips beneath his weight before she feels him. He must have better vision in the dark than she does - a hand cups her shoulder, gentle and precise, and his hands aren't shaking as he works on sliding her blouse off of her.

It's easier in the dark. Ahiru turns her brain off and unbuttons her skirt, wriggling her hips free, and only squeaks when his palm slides down the small of her back to help steady her as she undresses. Nobody's ever touched her there before, sans for maybe in ballet practice, and even then - always clothed, even if it'd been the thin fabric of a leotard. Even then, if it'd happened, she'd been Tutu, almost herself but not quite, wearing a bravado not her own.

Never while she was just Ahiru - clumsy, skinny Ahiru, with smatterings of freckles and protruding hip bones and tiny hips. Knobby knees and bony elbows. Clumsy hands.

"Sorry," he mutters.

He shouldn't be. Isn't this the point? He's supposed to touch her. She wants him to. Wants him to just… take control or something, so that she can give in to this once in a lifetime _thing_ and pretend that she is just a normal girl for once, and this thing - _sex_ \- that normal girls sometimes do can be something that she'd done, too. Just once.

"Don't apologize," she sputters, reaching out to him and finding his jaw in the darkness. Ah. Her eyes are starting to adjust now. In the lack of light, Ahiru can barely make out his silhouette, a smudge of black in the void of his room, but still - it's him. She knows this face well. He's a shape she knows well, despite having never confirmed it with her hands. Ahiru can remember more nights spent curled up on his pillow than not at this point

Her hands settle over his ears, fingers caught in his hair. His lashes tickle when he blinks.

"You can, um, you can touch me," she says quietly, sliding her hands back down over his jaw. She knows the shape of him, but he feels more solid beneath her hands, and warmer than she's ever imagined.

"I have your permission?"

She laughs nervously. It barely sounds like her voice. "Permission granted?"

"If that changes, let me know."

"It-"

"I mean it," Fakir says, and then he's holding a hand over hers. palm dwarfing her wrist. She can feel the calluses on his fingers, surely from holding his pen too tightly, and before she can think twice, Ahiru takes that hand into her own and kisses the back of it.

There's a scar there. She knows it. Feels it beneath her lips, raised skin, just noticably rougher than the rest of him.

It shuts him up pretty quickly. Ahiru's face burns but she doesn't back down, not now that she's finally found her courage. She supposes they should set up rules at some point, should discuss what is okay and what's off limits, because this is Fakir she's going to be sleeping with, and Fakir's the type to like order and clear boundaries, but for now she's happy to just bask in this nervous warmth bubbling in her blood. At least for now, she can play pretend, can walk in her human skin and be a normal girl.

"... I mean it," he says again. "If you change your mind, or if you don't like the way something feels, or god forbid something _hurts._ I'll stop. You won't hurt my feelings."

He talks so much. Isn't she supposed to be the blabbermouth?

"I trust you," she says, because it's the truth, and honesty can't be a fault, she thinks, no matter what anyone says. "I wouldn't have asked you to do this if I didn't."

"What do you want?"

Ah. Here's what she's been expecting. Rules. Well, this is Fakir she's sharing a bed with, after all. "I! Um. What do _you_ want?"

Fakir pinches her nose with startling accuracy. "This isn't about me."

"I don't want to- to just use you like you're just a human dildo or something! That's dehumanizing!"

This is supposed to be sexy. _She_ is supposed to be sexy. Instead, she manages to crack Fakir's calm, and he snorts and flicks her forehead instead of dutifully ravaging her. "I can't believe I just heard you say that."

Ahiru burns bright and thanks whichever gods are listening that the lights are off. "I mean it! I know… I know I asked you to do this for me and I know it's technically just a favor because you're really nice and stuff, but I still… want this to be about you too? I want you to not hate it!"

"I'm not going to hate it. Idiot."

"I know I'm not exactly what you want but- but I still can do stuff? I think? I don't want you to hate it!"

Fakir takes her jaw into his hands this time and presses her mouth shut with his thumbs. "I'm not going to hate it. I'm going to ask you some questions and I want you to either shake your head or nod, okay? Do you understand?"

"I'm nnnh-"

He pinches her lips shut. Very gently, but still. It's clear he's had enough of listening to her talk them in circles. And, well, that's okay, she supposes, this is fine - it's a mercy kill at this point. Ahiru never seems to know when to shut up.

"Good girl. Do you want me to kiss you?"

If Ahiru thought she was blushing before, then she's absolutely on fire at this point. She must rival the sun. Flustered and awkward, she shrugs.

"That's not an answer." Fakir brushes her bangs from her face. Stops giving her duck lips and instead glides a thumb over her bottom up, and goodness, it's like she's wearing nothing at all. "Yes or no? Do you want me to kiss you?"

Ahiru panics and shakes like a chihuahua, thoroughly overstimulated just from a gentle touch to her lip. Panics again, realizing her blunder, but Fakir's already moving on, asking, "Do you want to be held?"

She will not make the same mistake. If this is a once in a lifetime chance, she ought to take it. Ahiru tries not to seem too excited when she nods.

Fakir fidgets. "... I can… touch you?"

Nod.

"... Anywhere?"

(She will never retain her normal coloring.)

Still. Nod. Blush blush.

"And you'll tell me if something hurts?"

" _ **Yes,**_ you big-!"

Fakir sticks his finger in her mouth. Too startled to reply, she flaps her hands, loses her balance and tumbles back onto his mattress, head thumping onto his pillow, and oh, he comes tumbling after her too.

It's dark, but the weight of him over her is unmistakable. The mattress dips beneath the hand, planted beside her head, as Fakir steadies himself. He plucks his finger from her mouth and then does that thing again, brushing against her lower lip, only he trails the digit lower, over her chin, along her jaw, down her neck, over the strap of her bralette.

He sucks in a breath. "... Is there a clasp?"

"I. Um." She squirms beneath him, thighs pressed together. "No, it's…"

"Do you want to take it off?"

_Yes,_ Ahiru thinks, already moving, already wriggling her way out of the glorified training bra. A grown woman, with barely anything to show for it, she thinks dejectedly, tugging the elastic band of the bralette overhead and flinging it away before she has the chance to be embarrassed about her haste.

It's dark. It's not like he can really see much of her anyway. Besides, besides.

Fakir pauses, patient as always. All of his movements are so calculated, so precise, so thought out. It makes her feel a little stupid, a lot reckless - Ahiru is like a clumsy little duck in a china shop, and she sits there like a stupid idiot, gawking as she hears Fakir shed his shirt.

This is not a love story, she reminds herself. This is not happily ever after. This is a favor he's doing for her, and even if her eyes are pretty adjusted to the lack of light at this point, she still shouldn't stare at him like he's a hunk of a man or anything; he's Fakir, not somebody she can just make up fairy tales with in her head.

He's Fakir. He's already given her a happily ever after. Who is she to expect more? This is more than enough.

"... What do you want me to do?" she squeaks again.

"Ahiru," Fakir says, almost dismissively.

"I mean it. I can… do things? Or not do things? If you don't want me to?" Her hands find him in the dark, magnetized to his skin, and his skin is so warm beneath her palms, shoulders broader than she'd thought they might be. "I could, um," she says, swallowing thickly, allowing her hands to stray, mapping down the plains of his torso.

He's not particularly _built_. Fakir does ballet. He's pretty slim, when it comes down to it, but _fit,_ and even if he'd transferred from the writing division of the academy, he's still toned. Ahiru knows he has legs of steel. Knows his arms are stronger than they appear. Knows, too, of the birthmark, torn across his chest, an inky blue, in the shape of a raven's talons.

The way the muscles in his stomach feel beneath her palm is fascinating. They jump beneath her touch, and when her fingers brush the button of his pants he practically trembles.

Fakir grabs her wrist. It doesn't matter that the light's turned off anymore - Ahiru can see his blush, clear as day.

"... Not okay?" she asks, mortified.

"This is about you," he says, sucking in a breath. He always looks serious, but the look on his face now is particularly solemn. As if this is life or death. "Quit worrying about me."

He should know by now that she literally cannot turn off that part of her brain. Things cannot be just for her; even if it's a favor, even then. "If you don't want me to, that's fine, I won't, b-but I don't want this to just be you doing st… stuff to me. Fair's fair, right?"

"Fair's fair," Fakir says, scoffing, blushing.

"Fair's _fair,_ " Ahiru insists, even as he squeezes her wrist. "You're my friend, so!"

So. _So._

That seriousness on his face never changes. It's like he's stuck this way, perpetually stuck in do or die mode and the drama of it all. He stares her down, studying her, and it's a lot like being put under a microscope.

After a beat, Fakir must decide his specimen is satisfactory. "You first."

"I- Wha- _Oh!_ "

His mouth is hot on her shoulder. She tries to clamp down the yearning in her chest, the part of her that wishes he'd slip up, just once in his life, and misstep, so she could know what those lips would feel like mashed against her own. But Fakir is honorable, a knight with the birthmark to prove it, and when his hands slip down her stomach it doesn't even matter that he's not kissing her.

Ahiru yelps. Fakir's hand pauses, cupped over her hip, pinky linked in the waistband of her panties.

"Are-?"

"Please!"

It's all the permission he needs. Enthusiastic consent does something for him, apparently; Fakir seems to find great comfort in taking the reins, thank _god._ Presently, Ahiru feels like a live wire, like every nerve in her body has spontaneously combusted and set itself ablaze - she's never been touched like this, with such reverent gentleness, and certainly never _there_. He doesn't just stuff his hand down her panties unceremoniously and finger her like it's a chore, like he probably should - Fakir is careful, so careful, and takes things gradually, and when he brushes against her clit Ahiru nearly kicks him in the gut.

He exhales, jerking, shifting.

" _No_ , sorry, I- I just can't sit still, that's all, but I like-" _I like it,_ she thinks, blushing all the way to her roots. _I like you so much I don't know what to do with myself._

She's so wet that it's embarrassing. Thankfully, Fakir doesn't tease, doesn't say anything about it; he's quiet, she realizes, as he exhales again through his nose this time, circling that finger, reducing her bones to mush. He's quiet most of the time but even now, especially now, and the sound of her own breathing thunders in her ears, tremendously loud.

Then he slips his hand further south, sinking a single digit into the heat of her. Ahiru can't help but gasp.

"Still good?" he asks, but her head's so far in the stars she can barely make out the sound of his voice. "Ahiru?"

Please don't make her talk. She can't form words when he's touching her like this. Can't trust her stupid leaky mouth not to spill dangerous truths; she thinks of specks of light, of vanishing beneath him, and gasps again, choking back what threatens to be a moan.

"Please," she whimpers, gripping his shoulders.

It's weird, this desire to be filled, this need for friction; it's nothing like she's experienced before. She supposes it's a little like dancing, a little like the anxiety that strums through her legs as she approaches a jump, but it's not - it's different, still. Her body moves with an innate understanding of what it needs, in a way it never has for ballet. When Fakir sets his rhythm her hips follow, embarrassingly, eagerly, and Ahiru presses her face to his shoulder, sighing.

She feels him breathe into her hair. Hears the hitch of his breath as he crooks that finger deep in her, touches something so intimate and startling it makes her see stars. Her whole body starts, stomach clenching, legs jerking, and Fakir sucks in a breath through his teeth.

It's so difficult to sit still and keep her mouth shut. She's Ahiru, clumsy and awkward and reeling beneath his touch so blatantly it should surprise him. It doesn't. Fakir still says nothing at all, rolling her clit beneath his thumb, sinking another finger into her, slowly, gradually, and she might just die like this, she thinks. Trembling and gasping beneath him, hips moving of their own accord, so attentive to his pace, so eager for that light at the end of the tunnel, the thing that makes light flutter behind her lashes.

"... You said I could touch you," Fakir says, voice tight. It makes her head spin, that grit in his voice, that brink of control he teeters on. _God._ "Anywhere?"

"Oh, please don't try to talk to me right now, I can't…" Ahiru sucks in a deep breath and then keels as he does that thing with his fingers again, the thing that makes thinking far too difficult. Stringing together words, making sentences, coherent thoughts - she can't, she can't, she just _can't_.

He must sense her urgency. Fakir shifts, shoving her panties down until they're caught around her knees, effectively binding her there, and then he presses himself down, trapping her beneath him. The smell of his skin is so heart-wrenchingly familiar it almost makes her cry, almost - but then he finds that place again within her, buried deep into her heat and Ahiru comes undone, shaking, yelping, nails buried into his shoulder blades, teeth dragging along his birthmark.

It wracks her completely. And when she thinks it must be over, that has to be it, Fakir nurses her through the aftershocks, and the waves that follow make her melt until she's just a puddle of limbs and girl on his sheets, heart pounding in her chest.

The weight of him is comforting. And exciting. With her face pressed to his shoulder she can make nothing out, can see nothing, but she can certainly feel things, can hear the creaking of his bed springs beneath his knees as he shifts. Ahiru hears him mutter something incomprehensible, something dark and murky and that buzzing in her blood rumbles again, greedy and terrible.

"... A… Ah... " Ahiru chews her lip. Lays there, naked, panties twisted between her knees, sweaty and feeling stupid. Easy to talk a big game and offer her own helping hand, she thinks, just to work herself off on his fingers like a frustrated teenager.

He shifts. Slips his fingers up, burning a trail over her hips, up her stomach, pausing just beneath her breast. She wonders if he can feel the beating of her heart, wonders if he can make out the thundering of her pulse.

Fakir doesn't touch her there. He summons his strength and then hovers over her, weight on his elbows, forearms supporting him. He scoots, nose brushing hers, and the feel of his breath on her lips is dizzying. Oh, she _wants._

"... Satisfied?"

"I… but _you_ …"

There's a crook in his brow, a tension in his jaw. Fakir shakes his head. "It's not about me."

"Can I touch you too?"

She doesn't know where this confidence is coming from. Fakir takes a deep breath and Ahiru takes to cupping his face in her hands, instead of clawing up his back with her blunt nails. He's so warm, his skin, his hair - and he's a little sweaty too, and that's comforting, that it'd been as deeply moving for him, even if it'd been far more than just _moving_ for her.

"You're already touching me," Fakir says, and there's a tight smile on his lips. "Stupid."

"I know I'm not like, you know," Ahiru starts, shifting beneath him. It's impossible to wiggle her way out of her panties like this, and she can't very well stand or move without getting them off of her, but - but still, rubs the back of his shin with her foot, eager for contact with him, anything. "... You know! Exciting, or, or… whatever, sexy or pretty or any of the things girls are supposed to be, but I want… I mean, if you'll let me…"

Fakir closes his eyes. "That's not…"

"You should get something too! I m-mean, I'd feel so guilty if it was just me receiving…"

That rubbing seems to unglue him. The next breath he takes is shaky at best, and that - witnessing Fakir, the most private, straight-laced person she knows struggle for composure - is a far more compelling motivator than any misplaced guilt brewing in her. Ahiru squeezes her eyes shut and crooks her neck, just enough to catch an earlobe between her teeth and _tugs_.

It's like all the air in his body exits him at once. Fakir is a husk for a moment, gasping, slipping up for just a moment, long enough to press his hips into her, and Ahiru doesn't have to be smart to know what his arousal feels like.

"Ah-Ahiru, you-"

She chews her way down his neck, stopping at his throat. He's hard, pressed up against her pelvis, and she rocks against him, functioning on pure instinctual desires at this point. He doesn't say anything else but he does croon a little, something low and pretty, and a new fire lights up in her belly.

"... _Ghhaaa,_ you," he says, then cuts himself off. Fakir leans back and _looks_ at her, eyes dark. "... You're absolutely sure?"

_Stupid martyr,_ she thinks. Of course. It's about time the knight is repaid for his kindness.

"I just think- I don't want to leave you frustrated, a-and that's the whole point, right? I wanted the experience and you should have an experience too, if you want to, even if it's with me and I'm not very-"

Fakir takes a hand off of his face one at a time and then pins then to the bed. Ahiru stops talking and squeaks.

"You're plenty," he says. "Stop that."

"But-"

His hips grind into her. It's impossible to miss how excited he is - and for _her,_ she thinks, blushing deeply, reacting in turn, shoulders pressing back into the comforter, raising her hips to meet his.

" _Plenty._ "

It takes him only moments to free her from her makeshift bindings and kick off his pants. He seems to take him seconds longer to work up the nerve to shed his own undergarments, and Ahiru stares at him the entire time, eyes wide and eager.

He catches her staring and sputters. "Don't- would you quit staring!"

"Sorry!" she squeaks. But she can't help it! She's curious, okay; she's never seen a naked man before, and this isn't just any man - it's Fakir, and she might've felt it before but to see it and commit it to memory is something else entirely, and okay, whatever, she's so excited she doesn't know what to do with herself.

His ears are peculiarly pink as he shoves his boxers down his hips and throws them onto the floor. Ahiru tries not to gawk, she really does, but her eyes sort of… drop down to stare without her permission, and he's long and dark and hard and-

" _Staring,_ " he grunts, and then he's on her again, pinning her back to the mattress.

"Is that going to _fit?_ "

_That_ gets him to blush. "I'm not _that_ big, you stupid-"

"No, but _I'm-_ "

"Who said we were going to find out?" Fakir asks, and then he grinds his hips down. His dick slips and grinds against her hip, her stomach, and she gasps. "I don't… I didn't intend on going further than this, so I'm… ill prepared."

Ahiru tries not to sound too disappointed when she sighs. "I could use my hand too? I think?"

He chuffs, then releases one of her hands to take his dick into his. Ahiru can't help but look down and watches, transfixed, as he rubs the tip of himself between them, right over- _oh._

"... You _could,_ " he mutters, sliding against her. His lashes tickle as they flutter. Every brush of his dick against her clit makes Ahiru feel like thousands of tiny bolts of lightning have been directly wired to her pulse. "If you want. Or-"

"This is fine!" she squeaks.

She's not terribly dumb enough not to know what he's doing. Ahiru's so wet and it slicks him, and it's what it's made for, she thinks, so she shouldn't be embarrassed - but he's so warm and that alien desire to be filled is back again, ravenous and distracting. She can't help but angle her hips and move against him, and then the stars align and he slips between her legs, not _inside_ but pulsing between her thighs.

His palm sits heavy on her hip bone. She can't seem to catch her breath.

"... _Yes?_ "

Her heart leaps into her throat. "Yes!"

"Keep them… together," Fakir says vaguely, and when he leans back there's such a hungry look in his eyes it glues her knees together, eager to please. The pressure makes him puff, squeezing the hand he still has pinned to the bed so tightly it almost hurts.

_Yes,_ she thinks. _Yes._

He's so close and yet so far from where she wants him. This is good still, and when he begins properly rutting against her Ahiru does her best to meet him halfway, going as far as to twist her legs around and pinch her knees together. It's good, and Fakir's arms tremble with the control over himself he exerts - it must be so difficult, she thinks, to hold himself up over her, to work his hips like this - but she still wants, wishes, even, that he'd angle himself inside her.

It's selfish. They hadn't discussed this part. She doesn't know what Fakir wants.

Still. He seems to want this, and if he wants her, even if only in this capacity, Ahiru is happy to give it. That hand on her hip slips to cradle her lower back, and without his arm in her way she reaches down to part her folds and then every grind of his hips brushes him directly against her clit, and that heat in her belly roars, igniting every part of her like wildfire.

He is very suddenly a live wire. Fakir drops his head beside her and exhales, and his breaths come quick and suddenly, no longer carefully drawn and controlled. With his chest pressed against hers Ahiru keens, and then her hands are on his back too, pulling, pressing, reassuring him. She tries to keep her wits about her but it's difficult with him as close as he is, with his heartbeat pressed so close to hers, and she is just one girl, one stupid girl in love, and his hips are relentless.

"I can't… I can't…"

"Can't what," Fakir says, face pressed into her hair.

"Can't… I just, but I want you to…!"

"Stupid," he says, clutching her more tightly to him, palm spread along the small of her back almost possessively. "That's fine."

"No! No, I want…"

What does she want? To quell the heat between her legs? To feel the weight of him more deeply? She can't have everything, she thinks, not under these circumstances - and it makes her chest hurt, makes the ache in her heart more pronounced than it's ever been before. And how stupid can she be, mourning unrequited love while struggling to help Fakir reach that elusive finish line?

It's weird. She's never been possessive, not really. Ahiru doesn't lay claim to many things. She loves, surely, but never to this point - there'd been Mytho, once upon a time, but even then she'd stepped aside for Rue without fuss. Even then, there hadn't been fireworks rocketing off in her chest, there hadn't been this terrible, pulsing desire in the very core of her. She wants, with a way she's not accustomed to, and he's not hers to have. He's never been hers. At the end of the day she is just Ahiru, skinny and clumsy, caught still, halfway between duckling and human - she is Ahiru, of too many feelings and no place to truly call home, and to have imprinted so completely on Fakir is just… it's just…

Her nails drag down his back. The knot twists too tightly inside her, and it's right there. It's like struggling for breath, like reaching for the surface, and she only hopes her heart will still remain mostly unscathed on the other side. Hopes, too, that there will still be Fakir, despite it all.

"It's okay," he says, mouth far too close to her ear for her poor heart to handle. "It's okay."

It's all too much, and it snaps before Ahiru can really think about it. She gasps his name and clenches her legs together instinctually, and the noise Fakir makes must come from his throat. His lips are still pressed together, just brushing against the crook of her neck, and she's still coming down from the stratosphere when Fakir loses his own race.

He tries schooling his breathing into something less devastated. Ahiru can feel every gasp, hot and heavy on her shoulder, her throat.

Her face feels hot. Everything feels hot. Her legs are sticky and her eyes wet and she could die here, she thinks.

But she will never be so lucky. Will never be spared such embarrassment. Ahiru tries to collect herself but her bones are made of jelly and she just sort of… flops back into the blankets, useless and spent.

"... Hhha…" Fakir leans back, pushes his fingers through his hair. He's pretty like this, with his hair down, bangs slicked back. "... Sorry."

Ahiru shakes and rubs at her face. "No! No, nonono, I wanted this, don't-"

"I didn't mean to," he says, and something twinges in her chest, impossibly delicate. "Just… I'll get you cleaned up."

"Fakir…"

His hands are so gentle when he nudges her legs apart. Ahiru's still laying on her back, staring at his ceiling while he hastily dresses himself. If he tries saying anything else she can't hear him - the only noise she can make out is the slamming of her heart.

"... Thank you," she finally says, feebly.

Fakir chuffs and returns to her side, wet rag in hand. "Don't."

"Thank you," Ahiru says again, deathly sincere. "I didn't… think I'd ever get to… have something like this. So thank you. Really. I owe you."

His lips press together. He goes to clean her off but seems to think better of it - Ahiru squeezes her thighs together and blushes just thinking about it - and instead gently wipes the sweat from her brow.

"... Don't thank me for something like this," he says. "Seriously. You don't owe me anything."

Ahiru wills her bones into action and sits, still feeling a tad dizzy. It dawns on her that she's still naked and flusters, yanking blankets around her shoulders, at least enough to cover her bare chest. It's still dark, but they've long since gotten used to the low light, and she can't pretend anymore that he hasn't seen all of her.

"I appreciate it though. I know this is like… it's a lot! And it's something you're supposed to do with somebody you love and I'm… you know!" Her shoulders bunch up nervously. "... You're really nice, Fakir."

"I'm not." He's holding the cloth out to her now.

Ahiru takes it and he turns around, sitting on the edge of his bed, staring into the bathroom light across the room. The fluorescent light glows yellow, and it's familiar enough to soothe the burn in her blood, the anxious humming in her veins; Ahiru works on, um, cleaning herself, blushing to her roots the entire time.

"... I think you are," she says. "I'd do anything to make it up to you."

"Stop. Don't say stuff like that."

She turns, pivots. Drops her forehead to the back of his shoulder and sits there for a moment, pretending that this is normal, that this is something she can bask in. As if tomorrow she won't wake up with an emotional hangover and an inability to look him in the eye. How will she ever sleep soundly again?

"... You're my best friend, you know," she says, because she can't help it, it's the truth. A half truth. The most truth she can offer him without changing things.

It's almost like his shoulders fall, just a bit.

But it must be wishful thinking on her part. Ahiru closes her eyes and sighs.

"And you know I'd do anything for you," Fakir says, as if it doesn't break her heart in two. "I promised you I'd stay by your side, didn't I? Now shut up and stop thanking me for it. I should be apologizing to you for the mess."

"Nuh uh. I asked you to."

He scoffs. "Hardly."

"'M not that dumb. I know what happens when a guy-"

"Please don't finish that sentence." Ahiru blinks and peeks up; Fakir's still facing away from her, but he has his hand pressed over his face, and the tips of his ears are red.

And she smiles; they'll be okay, she thinks, if things can stay like this, too. Such is the fate of Princess Tutu - confessing her love has never been the endgame for her. This is enough, this happy middle ground, and she would be a fool if she couldn't keep her feelings in check.

So she slips her arms around him and squeezes him tight. Fakir sputters, because after all this time he's still not used to getting hugged, yelping something about her being an idiot and how she needs to put a shirt on or something, but Ahiru can't find it in her to be too mortified over it. He's already seen all of her anyway. What's the point? At the end of the day he'll still be around, and that's more than she could possibly want. What more could she ever ask for?


End file.
